Lives
by ThatClutzsarahh
Summary: Sequel to 'Lashes' and 'Lies' She can't be honest with herself. She carries the blame.


**So this is the very end of my three story trilogy, and there will be no more after this. I ended it the best i could, so thank you to all those who held out to read the very very end! **

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It's been years.

It feels like years, like long exhausting years, but it's only been 9 months. 9 small four week - long months. But each hour feels like a whole day and each day feels like a week and each week feels like a month and so on. It's hard to describe to anyone who hasn't felt the sting she has and she feels so alone. Her house is empty, too empty and her heart matches the quietness of the house. It's mid-day and the T.V. is on and there is movement in the building, but her apartment is cold and empty.

Olivia sat at the counter of her kitchen and stared down at her bowl of cereal. It's full but the bowls always are. It's silly that she's still acting so broken since he went away to prison for life nearly three months ago, but she can't help but see the face of his daughter everywhere she goes. During the trial they used it against her, trying under-mine her and she became callous and harsh at the mention of the small five-year-old girl. Her face was blasted everywhere- T.V., Internet, magazines and newspapers. She was so much like him, so much like him and it scared her, it really did.

Olivia had returned to work though. She had returned to work long ago; long before the trial, before his sentencing, before he'd been locked away awaiting trial. But work was empty for her and held no purpose. She'd been humiliated in front of her colleagues not once, but twice now. She wasn't the type to care what they thought of her; to care what people said, but she was hurting. So she coped with it the only way she knew how to-by working.

And so she continued on slowly, at a devastatingly slow pace. She had to convince herself Peter was gone and he never loved her and that everything he told her was a lie. She had to move on and live her life as if he never was there. Of course it would be impossible, she still worked in the Fringe division with a broken and falling apart Walter who reminded her subtly that she was the one that put him away for the rest of his life. He was an innocent old man, but he had the worst way of being completely on mark with ignorant comments.

In truth, she hadn't moved on at all. She still blamed herself everyday.

She put the bowl in the sink and rinsed away the soggy cereal. She hadn't touched it one bit. She reached into the cabinet and pulled out a bottle of whiskey before taking a swig. She leaned against the countertop and exhaled heavily. It was a mix between a sob and a sigh. The afternoons when she didn't work were the worst. It meant she had time to think about him and all his lies. She took another shaky sip from the bottle before shoving it back into the cabinet. Her eyes watered and she wiped away unshed tears before heading into the living room. It was then she saw an official looking Lincoln outside her apartment. She quietly cursed herself for drinking before grabbing her gun and peeking out the peephole and watching a salt and pepper haired man head up the steps to her door.

He knocked on the door once and she saw him straighten his light grey suit and blue tie before folding his arms across the suitcase in front of him. She set the gun in her in pants under her shirt before pulling open the door and staring the man in the eyes. She looked like a mess but she didn't care then. He stepped back a bit, taken off guard by her aggressive stare, but straightened himself and cleared his throat.

"Olivia Dunham?" he asked. Olivia nodded. He did not know she was special Agent Olivia Dunham, which let her know it wasn't work related.

"My name is Christopher Laws, Attorney of Law," he said holding out his hand. She took it.

"How appropriate," she muttered, "What can I do for you?"

"May I come in?"

Olivia stepped aside and set her gun in the open drawer by the door before shutting both. He headed for the kitchen. He set the briefcase down on the table and stared intently around the living space. She could tell he was judging her but she didn't care then. Let him judge.

"Perhaps you should sit Miss Dunham," the attorney suggested. Having no will power left in her at all she complied and sat down at the table in the kitchen. He opened the brief case and handed her a letter.

"I represent one Peter Bishop," he said bluntly. Olivia felt her whole posture go rigid. He'd already tore her apart once, what more could he possibly want to do to her? The lawyer watched her eyes grow cold and he wondered what the hell he did to her that cold make her hate him do much.

"He requested certain items of his went to you," the attorney spoke, "His request finally came through and there is a very large list of items he wanted you to have."

"He's in prison, not dying," Olivia said coolly.

"He was sentenced to life," the attorney reminded her. She felt her whole body crack. She was betrayed and broken and the superglue that held her together was weakening with every spoken word he said.

"I wanted to let you know in person," the man said, "Many of the items have paperwork you need to sign, but this," he said, pointing to the paper on the table, "Is written to you from him. He specifically told me not to read it."

Olivia picked up the small envelope and turned it over. She could open it now or later. She chose later. The attorney watched her with pity in his eyes. She was so hurt. He reached into the suitcase and handed her a stack of paperwork.

Most items where simple things with a few sentimental items like his mothers ring or his father's favorite book. Things that caught her off guard were his favorite ACDC shirt, his black leather belt, his watch, his silver ring and his lucky coin. Items that were distinctly him were the ones that made her want to cry. But the item that broke her the most was his grandmother's engagement ring. He had asked for her to have it. She knew the answer to why it was given to her was in the letter that hung heavy in her pocket.

"There is one more thing," the attorney said. Olivia looked up with tears in her eyes.

"A child services representative will be here tomorrow."

"A child services rep?" Olivia asked confused. The attorney swallowed.

"Mr. Bishop signed you as the legal guardian and sole custody of his 4 year old daughter Olive."

Olivia couldn't breathe. Her whole body stopped functioning. Why, why did Peter do that? Shaking her head, her fingers trembling, she took the paper from the man. He seemed cautious and weary, just as unsure as she was. She grasped it and stared down at it. His scrawl was etched across the page, so untidy and strange, but the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen. She wanted to run her fingers across the words and feel him again. His warm arms she never got to feel touch her, the hands she always wanted to grab but never did. Her whole body shivered and she looked back up at the lawyer. His grey eyes filled with pity as he gazed on her. He handed her a pen and she took it, flipping over the pages.

His daughter's name was Olivia Elizabeth Bishop. She liked ponies and princesses. She wanted to be a policeman when she got older. She could write her name and spell. Her favorite color was brown. Olivia read his words as she followed the writing downward. His scrawl was so easy for her to read, yet so hard for her as well. Her eyes threatened to spill over and water, drowning everything. But she would not, not here, not now. She signed the paper in plain blue ink and handed it over to the attorney. She watched him pack up his things and nod before heading for the door. Olivia stood and followed him out to his Lincoln. He popped open the truck and stepped back. A simple cardboard box sat in it.

"This is for you," he spoke after a few moments of silence. Olivia nodded and grabbed the box, hoisting it from the car. He shut the truck and nodded a goodbye to her before walking around the car and climbing in. The whole while Olivia watched him, silent and still, unable to move. When he had finally driven away, she turned away and to her cold apartment.

She set the box on her bed and looked at it. The cardboard was worn, like it'd been opened many times before and taped shut. The cardboard was soft and squishy and she felt like it could have fallen apart at any moment. She read the shipping label on it, tracing her fingers over it. The box had been the same one he'd taken all over the world. It felt wrong looking at it without him here.

"He's in jail, not dead," Olivia told herself stiffly before flipping back the lid and opening it.

A faded black ACDC shirt lay on the top. It was folded and set neatly on top and Olivia stared at it. She picked up the fabric in her fingers and traced her hands over it before bringing it up to her face and inhaling. His scent, so distinct filled her mind. Thoughts of happiness and joy flooded her mind before the sting of betrayal hit her and she shoved it violently away from her, watching it fall to the floor near her bed.

She rummaged through his things until she came across a photo towards the bottom. It was folded over and worn. It looked like he carried it everywhere with him. She looked next to the picture and saw his black leather wallet, noting it was open and the photo must have fallen out. She picked up the photo and unfolded it, feeling the flood of overwhelming emotion running through her body.

It was a picture of the two of them that Walter had taken, un-known to her. She was smiling, something she rarely did, as he played the piano. Peter's face was focused on the keys, but his lips were turned upwards into a smile. They looked perfectly at ease. Olivia looked at the picture, the feeling of tears hitting her eyes. Her fingers shook and trembled until she could no longer hold the picture still.

Who was she kidding now? She loved him still. With her perfectly broken world and falling apart life she couldn't have felt more sure of that one thing. For the horrible man that he was, for all the lies he told her, all the promises he saved, she would take this all back to be like that again. She wanted to hear his lies again and to falsely believe his promises now. She feels the sobs reining freely from her body and she pushes the box off her bed and grabs the fallen shirt, curling up around it and inhaling his scent. It was only four in the afternoon but she couldn't take being in the world now, and she let sleep invade her, the whole while feeling the sobs racking her being.

She woke up when his scent went away. She hadn't realized that she had tossed and turned so much that the shirt that belonged to him was nowhere it sight. Now, as she woke, his scent was nowhere in sight and she felt empty again. Her body was cold and empty, like her façade. She shook her head and stared up at the dark ceiling. It was somewhere in the middle of the night and the darkness of the room held her captive. She scrambled her hands through the sheets, feeling for the fabric that was so him. When she found it, she pressed it to her face again and stuffed it away in the box that lay at the foot of her bed. She couldn't look at it now. She turned over, intent on going back to sleep, but a letter weighed heavy in her pants. She froze, forgetting about it then and remembering now. Slowly, she reached into her pocket and pulled it out.

Fumbling with it, she opened it with shaking fingertips and unfolded the paper, noting the heavy writing and his uniquely beautiful scrawl.

_Olivia,_

_I would say you'd never read this, not in a million years, but if I know you right or if I know you at all, you've probably opened it already and are scanning the pages for the words "I'm sorry" or "You were right." But from me, neither will appear. To say I'm sorry would be like saying that the river flows. Obvious and stupid. Sorry isn't the right word for what I want to say. Apology isn't even the right word. We're long past the point of an explanation, past the point of uncomfortable silence and past the pitying attempt to win you over. I know I can't do that again._

_I've never had the chance to feel what real love feels like before you. Sappy, I know, but the burden of finding perfection kept me away. It's cliché and cheesy, but you were perfect. So to answer your question, not everything was a lie. I meant everything I said to you, everything about you being perfect, brilliant and impossibly stubborn. You are fatally gorgeous. That much I know now. God, this to me Olivia, babbling on like a fool about how I feel for you, about how you meant the world to me. You think marrying that other woman was easy for me? I know that's what you're thinking right now. So to answer that, no. Actually, Hell no. To marry her was to marry...God, I don't know. I wish it were you. Everyday I wish it were you. Olive should have been our daughter Olivia, not just mine. _

_I know it's my fault. I feel it in my body. If you've read this far, read past my lame confession of love for you then I want to say that you'll always be with me. I won't have it any other way. The ring I gave you. You never have to wear it, never have to look at it. I just wanted it to go to the right person. You. Olivia you were the right person. I can see that now. I guess what I want now is this…stay strong. Stay strong and beautiful Olivia. I've tried to tear you down, but you build yourself up from scratch every time. So please, build yourself up for me, for my daughter, but don't forget me. Or forget me. But the ring is yours, because you were it. You are the one Olivia. And you may forget that, once you've rebuilt yourself, but know that as I sit here in my jail cell that was worth seeing you again, that I think only of you. I, Olivia, will never forget you._

She had brown hair like Peters, a pointed face with perfectly shaped pink lips. She wore a simple brown dress and pink shoes. She clung to her pony backpack arms wrapped over her chest. She smiled up at her, like the Cheshire cat grin she had seen on a man she loved so long ago. To Olivia, she was his daughter, her fresh start. To her, Olivia was the woman in her daddy's wallet. The one he told her about, the stories of success. She was the woman that made daddy cry. The woman with the same eyes as her. Olivia smiled and stretched out her left hand, placing her fingers over the girl's shoulder, beckoning her in. The girl complied and ducked in.

And the social worker caught a glimpse of an antique diamond ring, sitting right where it should be,

on Olivia Dunham.

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The very End. Tell me, good? :D


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